Fourth letter to heaven

It has been four years of a bumpy ride on the road to grief. Weaving through a maze of emotions—pain, grief, silence, and loneliness—the abysmal darkness is flickered by a glimmer of light from your memories. Sometimes these memories bring a smile, and at other times, tears to my eyes. Grief is strange.

The fourth year without you has been as painful as the previous three. I miss my life partner, the kids miss their doting dad, and your old mother misses her caregiving son. Life for all four of us has veered off a smooth track, yet the journey continues. The spring in our steps vanished the day you left us.

Any celebration or joy at home is incomplete. The crucial one-fourth is always missing, and it is evident on our faces. Life will never be the same; it has changed forever.

I find solace in traveling. Whether it's Andaman, Meghalaya, Kashmir, or Agra, I carry mementos of you—a cap, glasses, a watch, or a muffler that still carries your warmth. These make me feel like you are traveling along with me.

Our son, who is a spitting image of you, has made it to a reputed business school. Not only does he resemble you, but your meticulousness and impeccable habits have also rubbed off on him. Our perky daughter, now in her third year of medical school, inherited your studying skills—the last-minute skimming through books yet achieving good results. She, too, is growing up to be a keen observer like you. The grief of your absence is somewhat mitigated by our lovely and responsible children.

As the years pass, our friends are marrying off their children. Attending your best friend's daughter's wedding in Jammu, seeing all your batchmates there, was a painful reminder of your absence. Blinking away my tears, I left the venue soon after exchanging pleasantries. The gathering starkly highlighted your absence.

Your nephew in the US is dad to a cute little bundle of joy, and the most amazing thing was resemblance of the new born to his dad s maama....the chin is directed inherited from your handsome genes. I ask them frequently for video calls and pics of the baby, as I find an uncanny glimpse of yours in the baby. 

Dealing with banks, taxes, and monetary issues continues to be daunting. Visiting the bank annually to prove I'm still alive gives me the creeps, especially while standing amidst grizzled old ladies. During my daily commute to work, I am entirely with you, listening to our favorite songs and reminiscing about our lovely rainy-day drives. It is very hard to think about you and even harder not to.

Life has turned me into a fine actor, with a strong facade but a broken interior, earning the label of a strong woman surviving the greatest loss. Little do they know that I am shredded and torn beyond repair inside. Never behaving like a walking misery or a weepy woman scattering tears everywhere, I adroitly stifle and blink away the water in my bleary eyes.

Our lives have not come to a grinding halt, but they have changed forever. We are all creating a new life stitch by stitch, but you continue to be the beacon of light guiding us on this path. We have all been pawns in God's capricious games. Once I am up there, I will settle my scores with God for this unpardonable and unjust act of His.